


Drown My Sorrows

by riverchic1998



Series: Ten Times Undone [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drinking, Ep: 3x23, Episode Tag, Gen, Sad, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 04:59:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1332871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riverchic1998/pseuds/riverchic1998
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Lydia isn’t surprised when Stiles shows up on her doorstep with a bottle of Jack in his hand and tears in his eyes. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>Stiles and Lydia work through their grief.</p><p>(Now part of a series)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drown My Sorrows

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I deal with rage and grief by pounding out 1,700 words of fic in about 40 minutes after months of no words. This is sad. You will cry. Fair warning.
> 
>  **ETA** : This is now a series featuring the whole pack, with Jacy writing in the series as well, because she handles rage and grief just like me.

Lydia isn’t surprised when Stiles shows up on her doorstep with a bottle of Jack in his hand and tears in his eyes. She doesn’t say anything, just stands to the side and holds the door open. Stiles shuffles in, eyes downcast, standing at the bottom of the stairs. 

She grips his arm before he can walk up to her room. “Not… up there.”

He frowns when she pulls him to the lesser-used family room in the back. The television is small and there’s no fancy surround sound system. The leather couch is worn and the cushions are lopsided, but she’s offset that by placing mounds of pillows and blankets in a nest so she can curl up and cry. A stack of the most depressing movies she could think of is stacked on top of the DVD player.

Lydia hasn’t made the trip to her bedroom since... 

Instead, her mother brings her what she needs, because the thought of going into her room, where she spent countless hours with Allison doing their nails, trying out new hairstyles, putting on each other’s clothes and doing runway shows between her vanity and bed is torture. 

Her throat closes as she falls into the space she vacated when the doorbell rang. Stiles gingerly sits next to her, perched on the edge. The bottle of Jack rests on the table. He starts fidgeting with his hands since they’re empty. She doesn’t even think when she reaches across and grips his hand in her own. When Stiles grips back just as tightly, something loosens in her chest. 

They sit on the couch, staring at the opposite wall, with only their hands touching. Neither speak until her mother walks in, a sympathetic expression on her face. She notices the alcohol on the coffee table, but doesn’t mention it.

“Hi, Stiles.” Her grin doesn’t reach her eyes as she takes slow steps forward. “Can I get you anything?”

Stiles shakes his head, then glances up in surprise, like he just now noticed she entered the room. “Uh, no thanks, Ms. Martin.”

Her mother nods and then turns to leave, looking back over her shoulder. “If either of you need anything,” her eyes dart down to the alcohol bottle, then move away, “just let me know.”

The silence is broken when her mother closes the door to the room. After taking a deep breath, Lydia reaches forward with the hand not tangled with Stiles’ and grabs the bottle of Jack. It’s almost completely full, but they’ll make a sizable dent in it, if not finish the entire thing. She places the bottle between her knees and untwists the top, tossing it into the nest of blankets. 

As she takes a drink, she tightens her grip on Stiles’ hand. 

Stiles takes the bottle from her, and she gasps, trying to catch her breath. She assumes the burn in her throat is from the alcohol. She wishes the burn is from the alcohol. 

Stiles passes the bottle back as she continues to stare at the wall in front of her, tears rolling down her cheeks. When she doesn’t take the bottle, Stiles places it back on the coffee table. 

“I’ve been…” he trails off, clearing his throat and swallowing, wiping his mouth with his free hand. “I’ve been trying to figure out what I could have done differently. I should have stayed up top, in the Jeep. You could have - could have gotten up sooner with Scott, warned them that she was going to die.”

Lydia closes her eyes, sobbing. He sounds so _defeated_ , but even if Stiles had stayed, it wouldn’t have done any good. She still would have been too late. 

“Instead, I tried to be the hero, or something, and I just…” Stiles tightens his grip on Lydia’s hand and pain blossoms up her arm. She squeezes back, happy to finally feel _something_ other than crushing sadness. “Scott had to hold the love of his life and watch her _die_. Do you, you know what that’s like?”

She opens her eyes and finally looks away from the wall, staring helplessly as Stiles just falls apart in front of her. Tears fall freely down his reddened cheeks as he gasps between sobs.

“Do you know how it feels to watch the light leave someone’s eyes? To know that you’ll, that you’ll never see them smile, or hear them laugh. That you’ll never be able to tell them you love them anymore?” Stiles curls over, chest heaving as his whole body shakes. 

Lydia turns towards him, using her other hand to pull him closer so they can huddle together, hands twisted awkwardly between them. She rests her other hand on the back of his neck as his forehead pushes into her shoulder, tears staining her old, ratty sweater.

The change in position doesn’t stop Stiles from speaking. His words come quicker and quicker, more jumbled as he chokes up. “I did that, Lydia, I, I did that. It was, was my fault, and I--”

Lydia holds him as he cries and she does the same, hot tears smoothed away by Stiles’ neck as he shivers against her. She doesn’t know how much time passes before Stiles pulls back and reaches for the bottle, swallowing more alcohol without breathing between mouthfuls. Lydia finally pulls back the bottle, not caring that Jack spills over the top and splashes onto the blankets. She follows suit, pushing past the burn to swallow the liquid until her lungs scream and she goes dizzy from the lack of air.

They continue drinking until the other pulls the bottle away. Lydia doesn’t know if it’s the fifth or sixth time Stiles has reached for the bottle when the words start pouring out of her. 

“I warned her.”

Stiles pauses, left hand awkwardly hanging in the air since his right hand is still threaded with hers. “What?” he asks softly.

“I warned her,” she repeats, glancing down at the half-empty bottle of alcohol. “In all the ways I knew how. I wrote it on my car window, like she and Scott used to do. I, I was screaming at her to stay away in my head, hoping that she would somehow get the message and listen. I knew, Stiles.”

Her breathing stutters as she finally admits out loud what she’s known for days but was too scared to say. “I knew that Allison was going to die and I still couldn’t stop it. So, it’s not your fault, okay? And...” she takes deep breaths, putting the bottle of Jack back down on the coffee table. “It’s not my fault either.”

Stiles clenches his jaw, and for a moment, Lydia thinks he’s going to fight with her. She stares at him, not bothering to wipe away the tears that still drip down her chin. After a few moments, Stiles falls back onto the couch, like a puppet whose strings were cut, and scrubs at his face. 

“It still hurts.”

“It’s going to hurt,” she snaps, rubbing her thumb across his knuckles in apology. “It’s never not going to hurt.”

Suddenly, she’s just so _tired_. The alcohol hits her hard, and she starts to get dizzy. With a huff, she presses her hand against his shoulder. Stiles lies down in the mound of blankets and pillows with a dubious expression on his face that morphs into shock when she burrows into the space between him and the couch. 

Once they’re settled, limbs heavy and breathing almost normal, Lydia rubs her cheek against his shoulder. “It’s always going to hurt,” she whispers, eyes closing. They’re going to have such massive hangovers the next day, but that pain will be a walk in the park compared to the heartache. 

For a moment, she thinks he’s already fallen asleep. His heartbeat is slowing down, echoing through her head, and she presses closer to listen. “Our lives, dude,” he mumbles. It’s the most normal-sounding thing that’s come out of his mouth since he arrived, and the statement makes her smile. “Just… fuck our lives. Our supernatural, never normal again lives.”

She laughs, but it turns into a sob halfway through. “You know what, what Allison would say if she were here with us?”

“We wouldn’t be here if--”

“Shut up,” she says, but the words are soft. “Do you know what she would say?”

Lydia feels Stiles swallow and smooths a hand across his chest when his breathing picks up unsteadily. “She would kick our asses. For getting drunk and for moping around.” 

She leans up on her elbow so she can look Stiles in the eye. The grief on his face mirrors her own, but Lydia pushes through it. “Allison would say,” she begins softly, “ _I don’t want you to be normal. I want you to be alive._ ”

Biting her lip, Lydia holds Stiles’ gaze. “Tonight, we’re going to grieve, okay?” Just when she thought her tears were done, a fresh wave begins, and she tries to blink them back, for all the good that does. “Tonight, we’re going to lie here and exchange Allison stories and cry and we’re going to grieve. But tomorrow, we’re going to get up and we’re going to live, okay? Promise me, Stiles.”

Because she needs to hear him say this. If he doesn’t, if he’s not with her, she doesn’t know that she’ll survive this ordeal. If they can lean on each other and help each other through this, then maybe they can get off of the couch and be there for Scott and Isaac and Chris. They can be the strong ones, but she needs his help.

“Promise me,” she repeats, desperation creeping into her voice. 

Stiles nods after a moment, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Yeah,” he says roughly, “I promise.”

Lydia settles her head back onto his shoulder as their hands clasp together over his chest. She doesn’t say anything reassuring, or say that they’re going to be okay. They’ll never be okay again, but maybe they can live.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my glorious beta, [Jacy Evans](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jacyevans/pseuds/jacyevans). Sorry I made you cry at work. 
> 
> " _I don’t want you to be normal. I want you to be alive._ ” is an actual line from the show. Allison says it to Scott in 2x03. So here, have more sad feels.
> 
> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated. The ask box at my [tumblr](http://dream-mancer.tumblr.com/) is always open. Just be warned there are still a lot of sad and angry posts because I will never be over it. 
> 
> And as always, thanks for reading.


End file.
